After bidding goodbye to Richa, Kaushik, and Vikrant, I drove home in silence. The road was quiet, shadows long and soft under the late-night lamps.

As soon as I stepped in, the house was wrapped in that familiar calm. I walked toward the nursery, the door slightly ajar.

There she was.

Myra, curled up like a little ball, her cheeks flushed from sleep, one arm flung across the pillow. The nanny was seated beside her, dozing lightly. I nodded to her, signaling she could go rest, and gently scooped Myra into my arms.

She stirred just a little but didn't wake. I carried her to my room, placed her gently on the bed, and pulled the soft duvet over her small frame. Reaching to the side table, I picked up her favorite unicorn plushie and tucked it near her. Her hand instinctively reached for it in her sleep. It was her way.

After freshening up, I returned to my room and sat at the edge of the bed. Myra was still deep in sleep, her soft breaths rhythmic and calming.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

Maithili.

“Reached home. Had a wonderful evening.”

I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary. Should I ask about meeting again?
Was it too soon?

But something in me—the part that remembered her calm voice, her quiet understanding, the way she listened—pushed past hesitation.
I typed.

“If you’re okay, let’s plan another meeting?”

A pause.

Then her reply came.

“Okay.”

I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath.
A quiet smile crept onto my face. We exchanged a few more words, just light. Then we said goodnight.

Lying back on the bed, I turned slightly toward Myra. I reached out, brushing a stray hair from her forehead.

Maithili…
She was different.
She wasn’t what I imagined I would want—but maybe she was what I needed.

Telling her about Alisha felt right. I hadn’t planned it, but when she asked, I couldn’t lie. If this moved forward… I wanted it to start with truth.

But Myra…
That story, I couldn’t tell just yet.

Myra wasn’t just my daughter.
She was my world.
And that truth was complicated.

The next morning

As usual, I got up early, prepped Myra’s uniform, and helped her get ready. She always hated brushing her hair, but we found a rhythm that worked braids, a sparkly clip, and the promise of extra mango in her tiffin.

Downstairs, my parents were already at the breakfast table, waiting for us. The moment I entered with Myra, their eyes lit up.

But I could feel it their curiosity simmering just below their smiles.

They wanted to ask.

They wouldn’t do it in front of her.
But it was coming.

While Myra nibbled on her toast, she turned to me with her big, curious eyes.

“Papa?”

“Yes, baby.”

“How was your exam yesterday?”
The emphasis she put on the word made me chuckle.

I glanced at my parents. They knew. I had told Myra I had an ‘exam’ when she asked why I was coming late last night.

“It was good, princess,” I said.

She tilted her head. “Will you get A+?”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I might. I might not. Let’s wait and see.”

She gave me a thoughtful nod, satisfied with that logic.

My mother finally couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So… Abhi, how was the meeting?”

I glanced at Myra, who was now carefully stacking apple slices like blocks.

“It was good,” I said simply. But the warmth in my tone said more than the words.

They smiled.

“So should I call Sushma ji and speak—?” my mother began.

I shook my head. “No, Ma. Not yet. Don’t say anything. If things move forward, I’ll let you know. We’re planning to meet again.”

My father leaned back with a satisfied look. “That’s wonderful, Abhi. Just take it slow.”

“What is wonderful, Dadu?” Myra piped up, suspicious.

“Nothing at all,” I said, trying not to smile. “Eat your fruit.”

She squinted at me. “It’s apple, Papa.”

“Exactly. A fruit! And very healthy. Come on, let’s eat together, my good girl.”

After breakfast, I dropped her off at school, watching her run into the building with her bag bouncing behind her.

And as I drove away, my thoughts drifted—again—to Maithili.

Her smile. Her questions. The silence between us that never felt awkward.

This was new.

This was… something.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t want to overthink it.
I just wanted to see where it could go.

Days melted into weeks.

What began as a polite exchange of messages had grown into something… steady. Organic.
First texts, then voice notes. Then calls that neither of us wanted to end.

We talked about everything—her day at work, my deadlines, Myra’s new obsession with sticker books, the weather, even the best chai spots in town.
One planned meeting turned into two. Two became many.
We didn’t count anymore—we just met when we could.

There was a rhythm to it now. An ease.

But dinners?
No, I never met her during that time.

Evenings were reserved. Sacred.
For Myra.

She’d grown used to sleeping with me beside her, tucked into the crook of my arm, asking for one story—just one more—before she drifted off. Her little fingers clinging to mine, her breathing soft against my shoulder. That was our world, and it wasn’t negotiable.

What surprised me most… was how effortlessly Maithili understood that.
She never questioned it.
Never asked for that space.

And that more than anything made me grateful. It told me more about her than words ever could.

We hadn’t met in public. Not yet.

Not because I was ashamed or unsure.
But because I needed to be careful.
I owed that to Maithili.

Until it was something real official. I didn’t want curious eyes or whispers attached to something still forming. This was my way of protecting it.

Vikrant, of course, had been insufferable.
Always poking around for updates. Always fishing with that grin of his.

I told him just enough to shut him up—enough, not everything.

Yesterday, he mentioned a quiet little café tucked between two old bookshops near our office. Low profile. Minimal crowd. Perfect.

I messaged Maithili, asking if she'd like to meet there.
She said yes without hesitation.

And suddenly, I couldn’t wait.

There was a certain anticipation I couldn’t explain—like a pull. A need to see her. To tell her about a frustrating client, to hear her laugh, to see that way her eyes lit up when she talks about her day.

That evening, after wrapping up a last-minute client meeting, I drove to the café.

As I stepped in, I saw her.

Already there. Sitting by the window.

Her head was slightly tilted, eyes scanning the menu lazily, a soft smile playing on her lips as if she already sensed I was near.

And just like every time before—something shifted in me.

No matter how tightly the day had gripped me…
No matter how drained I felt…

Her smile had this way of untying every knot.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grand. But it was mine—in that moment, it belonged to me.

And I knew—again, with certainty—Maithili was everything I’d ever hoped for.

And maybe, just maybe…
She was the one who could complete the picture I’d quietly stopped believing I’d ever have again.

We sat across from each other, the same corner table in that quiet café, two coffee cups between us and a conversation that had stretched far beyond anything we’d planned. We spoke about work, traffic, childhood memories, the odd quirks of our colleagues—everything and nothing, really.

She was smiling—easily, freely.

And then, just as I was about to take a sip of coffee, she said it.

“I want to meet Myra.”

My hand paused mid-air. For a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right.

She looked right at me. Calm. Certain.

I didn’t speak. Not right away.

Because what she said… it hit me like a quiet wave. No noise. Just depth.

In the past four weeks, I never once asked her if she’d want to meet Myra.
Not because I didn’t want it.
God knows I wanted it more than anything.

But I didn’t want to ask her and risk making her feel cornered, or worse—obligated.
This… needed to come from her. Voluntarily. Wholeheartedly. Not for me. Not for us. But because she truly wanted to step into our life.

And here she was.

Asking on her own.

I finally asked her why.

She smiled, that soft, thoughtful kind of smile she wears when she’s not dressing up her answer for the sake of ease.

“Because she’s your world,” Abhiram. “And if I want to know you, really know you, it begins with her.”

She wasn’t wrong.

But she wasn’t completely right, either.

But the truth is… she already knows me.
More than most people ever have. More than I’ve let anyone know me in years.
This wasn’t about knowing me.
This was about joining my world.
And that—meant everything.
Her wanting to meet Myra—it wasn’t proof of her knowing me. It was proof of something else. Something deeper.

Something real.

I looked at her for a long moment.

If she was going to meet Myra… it wouldn’t be as some “friend” or just a “nice aunty”. She was becoming part of ours—mine and Myra’s.

So I took a breath and said it.

“If you’re going to meet Myra, it won’t be casually. Not as a random acquaintance or a friend I occasionally see.”

She blinked. Just once. Like she hadn’t expected that.

I leaned in slightly, my voice steady.

“She’ll meet you as someone who’s becoming part of her world. Our world.

Her eyes changed—there was a storm in them. A flicker of emotion too big to name. Surprise, maybe. Fear. Hope. All tangled together.

And maybe she didn’t know what to say.

So I did something I hadn’t done all these weeks.

I reached out and gently placed my hand over hers.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t a grand gesture.
It was simple. Quiet.

But it held everything.

A reassurance.
A promise.
A silent “you’re not alone in this.”

She didn’t pull her hand away.

And in that shared stillness, I knew something had shifted between us—gently, permanently.

She wanted to meet Myra.
And I wanted to introduce her not just as a part of my life…
But as the future centre of it.

When I told her what she meant to me—when I spoke those words aloud that had only lived in the silence of my thoughts—Maithili didn’t respond right away.

She just looked at our hands… still gently intertwined on the table. And then, she slowly lifted her gaze to mine.

There wasn’t fear in her eyes.
There wasn’t hesitation.
Just something deeper. Something honest.

Then she said something I wasn’t ready for.

“I’m ready for us. I’m ready for a future together, Abhiram… but not without knowing everything. Not until I know all of it. All of you.”

I froze.

Just like that, the calm shattered quietly inside me. Not with noise. But like glass breaking underwater—silent, but impossible to ignore.

She meant Myra’s truth.
She meant the past I had buried so deep, I had almost convinced myself I’d moved on.
She meant that chapter—the one I didn’t share with anyone beyond my family. The one that took something from me I would never get back.

I didn’t know what to say.

How do you begin talking about the darkest part of your life to someone you’re just starting to dream a future with?

How do you pull back the curtain on your most broken self… and still expect them to stay?

That part of my life isn’t just painful, it’s fragile. Raw.
It’s the chapter where everything changed.
Where love wasn’t enough to save someone.
And lost something else in the process.

I looked at Maithili… her eyes, still soft. Still open.

But I couldn't do it.
Not then.
Not yet.

I slowly pulled my hand back, stood up, and said quietly, “I’ll call you.”

That’s all I could manage.

Before she could respond, I turned and walked out of the café.

Each step felt heavier than the last. I wasn’t running from her.
I was running from me—from the version of myself I’d kept hidden for too long.

I needed time.
To breathe.
To feel.
To decide whether I was ready to be seen completely—by her.

And most of all…
To ask myself: Do I have the strength to finally speak the truth I’ve locked away for years?

Because once I begin…
There’s no going back.